


Talk to me, amazing mind

by songofproserpine



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Cuddling, Light Angst, M/M, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:08:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23538130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songofproserpine/pseuds/songofproserpine
Summary: Akira's having bad dreams, and needs a living weighted blanket to cuddle him back to sleep.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 9
Kudos: 243





	Talk to me, amazing mind

**Author's Note:**

> Hey go listen to [Dreams by The Cranberries](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yam5uK6e-bQ) because it fits them and this fic.

Texts from Akira had their own distinct sound: a small bell ringing three times in succession, clear, precise, and almost fragile.

Goro picked up the phone before the chime could end. 

_You still up?_ the text read.

_Yes. Why are you?_

_Bad dreams. Can’t sleep. Why are *you*?_

Goro hesitated, briefly. It was getting less easy to filter out the truth and turn it into a carefully modified version of itself. _My mind is preoccupied._

_Same._

Goro didn’t bother to respond. The three dots in the text window let him know Akira had more to say.

_You don’t wanna drop by, do you? I know it’s kinda late._

Goro’s eyes drifted to the clock. _I would have to take the last train to get to you, with no way of returning._

 _You could always stay here._ _You have before._

He did, yes. Not often enough to be a habit, but not rare enough to be something he wouldn’t gladly repeat, either. _And how would you explain this to Sakura-san?_

_Never had to before. Not gonna start now._

Goro began to type. Stopped. He began again, stopped again. He erased each sentence every time. This was a truth that could not be watered down. It was strong and solid, like the bones of the earth, like a stone in a fist. Unbreakable, immovable--and so damned painfully stubborn.

_I’m on my way._

_Knew I could count on ya. ♥_

Goro shoved his phone into his pocket and scraped his teeth along the inside of his cheek, all in an effort to ignore the burning blush in his cheeks.

* * *

Akira let Goro into Leblanc and leaned in to place a quick, whispering kiss right on the cheek that had blushed the hardest. Goro wondered if he knew, somehow, that his blood had burned the fiercest there.

After the door closed behind him, Goro took a quick look at Akira. There were bruise-like shadows under his dark gray eyes--nothing new there. But they seemed darker, fiercer. His shoulders, broad but usually low, had sagged even further than usual. He was more than tired, he was _drained_.

“Let’s get you upstairs, yes?” Goro said, and brushed past Akira before he could reply.

“What’s the rush?”

“You look dead on your feet. Rushing is the sensible thing to do.”

Akira caught up to Goro and curled his pinkie around Goro’s own, squeezing it at the knuckle. “You could always carry me.”

“And risk giving you a concussion should you knock your head into the wall?” He smiled. “Once was bad enough, wasn’t it?”

The stairs groaned quietly under the weight of their feet as they climbed the few short steps up to the loft that Akira called home. One of the windows was open, the curtains raised, letting in the wan light of Yongen-jaya’s streets and the crisp, early November breeze. Goro scanned the room quickly, but saw no sign of Akira’s cat--well, _not_ -cat. He turned to Akira, setting down his briefcase--with a change of clothes and a toothbrush packed inside--and saw Akira watching him.

“So we’re alone?”

“Yep.” Akira pushed his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants, slumping into his usual posture. “Morgana likes to make the rounds of our houses.”

“I see. Is that why you can’t sleep? Because you’re alone here?”

“I slept alone for the first sixteen-ish years of my life, you know.”

“Indeed.” Goro unbuttoned his coat and carefully removed his gloves, deliberately taking his time with each finger. He lay his coat down on the arm of Akira’s sofa and tucked his gloves into the pockets. There was no need to mention he’d slept alone for every year of his life, every month of it, up until that one night in early July when Akira had asked him up to the room on a dare and Goro had refused to back down from it.

“Get to bed,” he said, not looking at Akira. “I’ll join you shortly.”

True to his word--Goro always _tried_ to be as true as he could to Akira, no matter how every word felt like a hook through his tongue--Goro joined Akira in that miserably thin, mostly uncomfortable mattress stacked on top of plastic crates. They had done the most they could to make the bed move from _miserably painful_ to _tolerably awkward_ , padding it out with soft sheets and blankets that made bed-sharing less of a chore and even more of a pleasure.

Akira opened one arm and held it out for Goro as he approached the bed. As usual, a slanted smile lit up the dark-haired boy’s face, adding another lance of pain to Goro’s heart. It was different from the smirk Akira wore when arming himself against the world; this smile was smaller, softer, and usually the prelude to a kiss. This was _his_ smile. Goro’s smile. Made for and shared with and bared to him alone. Goro hated seeing it as much as he hated the thought of never seeing it again.

Goro climbed into bed, nudging one knee between Akira’s and tucking himself under Akira’s open arm. He slid one hand under Akira’s back and the other around his waist, effectively pinning Akira to his body in a warm, firm, if disjointed embrace. They shifted against each other, trying to get comfortable, before finally settling on a position. Goro lay half on Akira, chest to chest, one hip touching, with the rest of his weight carefully angled on the bed. Akira’s hand stayed on Goro’s back, running his fingers lightly across the back of his neck.

A few minutes passed in silence. Goro listened to the wet sounds of Akira’s breathing, the steady thump of his heart, and the few moments of silence and sudden skipping beats, a mark of Akira’s arrhythmia. He hated these, too. Hated to know the smallest, visceral details of what it took to keep Akira alive, and how fragile the sounds were, how every space of silence was a reminder that it would some day be quiet forever.

“What was your bad dream about?” Goro asked.

“Which one?”

“The one you mentioned tonight.” He paused. “I take it this means you’ve had more than one?”

“I’ve been having them all week.”

Goro propped his chin up with his hand and peered at Akira in the silvery shadows of the streetlamps and the half moon. “In that case, pick the worst and tell me about it.”

Akira’s fingers stuttered briefly on the back of Goro’s neck. They moved once, then settled down, lightly curling in his hair.

“I dreamed I was a kid again, lost in a crowd, and tried to scream for help. But each time I opened my mouth this… thin, raspy sound was all that came out.”

Goro lowered his head back to Akira’s chest and shut his eyes. “Anything else?”

“No one in the crowd stopped to look at me,” Akira continued. He spoke in low, even rhythms, making his voice a soft, rumbling murmur against Goro’s ear. “Nobody stopped or looked, or even noticed me at all. I kept trying to scream so someone would stop and help me, but it didn't work.”

Akira’s voice kicked up a faster pace as he spoke until each word shook like unsteady legs forced to sprint. There was nothing else Goro could do but hold the boy tighter, hoping to squeeze out some of that fear.

“A stress dream,” he said simply. “I imagine you already came to such a conclusion, but I hope hearing it from someone else may bring your mind at ease.”

“Sort of, yeah.” Akira’s hand began to move again, his nails very gently skimming through Goro’s scalp the way they both liked it. “So. You got any ideas on how to deal with dreams like that?”

Goro laughed. “Aren’t you already dealing with it?” he asked, gently squeezing one of Akira’s legs between his own. “Isn’t that what I’m here for, after all?”

“Well, what about when you aren’t here anymore?”

Goro froze. “What do you mean?”

“You said it yourself, remember? When we’re done with Sae’s Palace and the Thieves break up, you won’t be seeing me in private anymore.” Akira’s heart skipped and stuttered, but his voice was calm, measured. “So I figured my best option was to get the advice of my living, breathing, weighted blanket boyfriend before he breaks up with me for good.”

Now it was Goro’s heart’s turn to skip, trip, and stutter. And he didn’t even have the excuse of a medical condition.

Slowly, achingly, Goro raised himself up on his elbow and peered into Akira’s dark gray gaze. He reached out and flicked a few of Akira’s bangs back, clearing the way for them to peer into each other’s eyes with no obstructions in place.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” he asked, his voice low and sharp, like a warm breath released between bared teeth. “Make the most of me while you still can.”

It wasn’t a permanent solution by any means, but it was at least a stopgap measure for this moment's ache.

Akira’s eyes glittered. He took the hint--but then again, he always heard what Goro kept hidden in the margin of most of his sentences. “If I could I would forever,” he said, his voice as soft as the hiss you make when you press on a bruise. He drew Goro close for the first of that night’s kisses, and the softest of its caresses.


End file.
